


Keeping Quiet

by WednesdayGilfillian



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Communication, F/M, Honeymoon, Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29750808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayGilfillian/pseuds/WednesdayGilfillian
Summary: On her honeymoon, Shelagh learns to relax.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	Keeping Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @ginchy and @fourteen-teacups for their kind encouragement! 💙❤️

It was the second evening of their honeymoon. They had spent the daytime idly; walking, and reading, and browsing little shops. But now the sun had set, and they’d retired to their suite. There was an intoxicating sort of inevitability about what would happen next.

Now, Shelagh was beginning to realise she’d had quite a…clinical understanding of what was meant by ‘making love’. While she herself had been a nun, she had given mothers lessons on prophylactic use; she had long understood what might crudely be called ‘the mechanics’. But this, with Patrick… This was nothing she had ever read about.

Men, she had been told, were impatient. So, even when she _had_ imagined what such evenings might be like, she had never quite imagined… That when she lay on her back, anyone would take the time to kiss his way down her body, would kiss the inside of her ankle adoringly, before kissing his way back up again. Or that so much time could be devoted to simple caresses; to trailing fingertips over her skin, maddeningly lightly. Over her hips, and thighs, and stomach. Yet this was clearly part of making love, too. (It certainly had an effect.)

In fact, it had _such_ an effect that Shelagh felt self-conscious. She _wanted_ to relax. But tonight was so much…slower than the first time had been. She hadn’t had a spare thought in her head to feel self-conscious then. Now, so open to Patrick’s gaze in the lamplight, she was all too aware of her every reaction. When his fingers _finally_ trailed to where she already ached, her eyes fell closed. As he touched her, Shelagh bit her lip; afraid that she might, too early, make…unnecessary noise.

With her eyes closed, however, it was easier to lose herself in sensation. She was getting really quite lost indeed when Patrick’s voice cut through the haze of pleasure. He sounded concerned.  
“You’re not uncomfortable, are you? I’ll stop, if-”

“No!” she blurted out, her eyes still closed. Then she came back to herself, and felt embarrassed by her own candidness. (She _really_ hadn’t wanted him to stop.)  
“No. Not uncomfortable. Q-quite the opposite.”  
“Ah.”

Taking in this response, Patrick gave a little smile, almost succeeding in looking modest. Then his brow furrowed slightly. His expression was gentle and curious.  
“So, you’re just…biting your lip to…keep quiet?”  
She nodded, feeling a twist of worry that perhaps she must look foolish. But Patrick simply smiled, propping himself up on one elbow to see her better. Light from the bedside lamp gilded his shoulders.

“You don’t _have_ to keep so quiet, you know,” he told her, reaching to brush aside a strand of her hair. “Honeymoon suites tend to be quite strategically secluded.”  
This observation came with a roguish smile. It was a clear attempt to put her at her ease; and, feeling grateful, Shelagh laughed softly.  
“I know. It’s just…”

Her sentence trailed off. How could she explain, without sounding like a prude? When she couldn’t even explain her reasons properly _to herself_?

Before she could collect her thoughts, however, Patrick shook his head; as though to say she didn’t need to explain anything.  
“This is all very new. I understand. Just promise you’ll tell me, if you don’t like anything I’m doing?”  
Shelagh felt oddly touched by his sincerity. “I promise,” she said, shyly.  
“Good.”

Patrick’s relief was obvious. Then his expression lightened again, and turned teasing.  
“Now, where was I…?”  
He lowered his gaze, considering her curves as though scanning a body of text for the last line he’d been reading.  
“Ah, yes.”

Shelagh’s laugh became a gasp as his mouth lowered, lavishing her breasts with kisses. Her fingers tightened in the bedsheets as his tongue teased at her nipple. But she was too aware of the habit, now, to bite her lip any longer. She pressed her lips together instead; and a helpless, soft sort of whimper came out anyway. She felt Patrick smile against her skin.

It all felt so good… How could she want anything so good to stop? But somehow, with Patrick partway down her body, he seemed too far away. ( _How_ could he be too far away when his mouth was on her skin? When their legs were entangled?) She wanted to see his face. Wanted him above her. Wanted to feel him now the way she had last night…

Shelagh had never been more than the slightest bit drunk, but perhaps this was what it felt like. Her head was swimming, and she didn’t feel entirely responsible for what came out of her own mouth. She raked her hands through the hair on top of his head, hardly sure whether she meant to encourage Patrick or distract him.

“Patrick,” she breathed, pulling gently at his shoulders, “Patrick… Don’t you want…?”  
She felt, and sounded, genuinely confused, and Patrick chuckled. It was a rich sound, and a deep one, and something clenched in Shelagh’s stomach.  
“Of course I do,” he said, pressing his hardness against her thigh for emphasis. “But I can wait.”  
Feeling fevered, Shelagh blew out a breath.  
“I’m not sure _I_ can.”

He went very still; and for a moment, Shelagh was afraid that she might have been too forward. Then Patrick raised his head, looking at her through the dark hair falling into his eyes.  
“You have no idea what it does to me, hearing you say things like that. I mean, I’ve dreamed, but… Shelagh… To hear it…”  
He shook his head, as though in wonder.

Shelagh’s breath stuttered as he suddenly moved back up, so that their faces were level. He raised himself over her, reverently kissing her jaw, her cheek. Now he was cradled in her hips; the hot, hard weight of him pressing against her aching need. Shelagh really couldn’t help the pleading little noise that escaped her. Patrick groaned in response; and then, at last, he moved inside her. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, as though seeking control there. His voice was ragged as he murmured words against her skin.

“I want to learn you by heart. I want to learn every little noise you make. How you sound when you’re pleased. When you’re frustrated. When it’s too much, or not enough. So that, when we’re beyond words, I can still know… So that I can try to give you everything you ask for.”

Shelagh didn’t know if she was more overwhelmed by what he was saying, by the intense reality of him, or the way her pleasure built with his every movement. She clung to his shoulders to anchor herself, and cried out in a sort of sob.

Was it that, or another cry a few moments later that drove Patrick over the edge? The moments blurred; but at some point his hips surged forward, and after that there was no more control to be had, for either of them.

Afterwards, as they lay side-by-side and caught their breath, Shelagh stared at the gold-lit ceiling.

It could be like this. It didn’t have to be a performance; one that she might get wrong. It didn’t have to be a foreign land. Well, it _was_ a foreign land, of course, just for the moment…but she was there in good company.

Patrick rolled onto his side to face her, and reached to stroke the side of her face.  
“Oh, darling,” he sighed. “You are…”  
He didn’t seem to have the words. And that, in itself, said everything. The giddy smile that grew between them could have lit the room; no lamp would have been needed.

They shifted so that she was tucked against his side, one leg curled over both of his. As he played with her fingers, she could tell that he was readying to say something.  
“Shelagh, to be clear… What I said… I don’t mean, I don’t want you to think that you have to…put on any kind of show for me.” He frowned, looking awkward. “I’d just hate to think you were lying back and thinking of England. Or Scotland, for that matter.”  
Shelagh nearly laughed; both at his little joke, and at how very misplaced this concern was.  
“Far from it!” she assured him.

In the haze of her newfound bliss, she felt confident enough to tease him. After a pause, she added, her eyes a-twinkle: “That said, we really should visit Aberdeen.”  
He didn’t rise to the bait, but simply smiled and raised an eyebrow.  
“Perhaps we could rent a nicely _secluded_ cottage in the Scottish countryside?”  
She met him grin-for-grin. “Is that a promise?”  
It was Patrick’s turn to stifle a self-deprecatory laugh.  
“Right now, I’d all too easily promise you anything.”  
Shelagh almost kept a straight face as she started to count off a long list on her fingers.  
“Well then, I’d like a new dress, _and_ …”  
As she started to laugh, Patrick gave a growl, grabbed both her hands, and very effectively kissed her into silence. It was a long moment before they came up for air.

Shelagh turned to look at the clock.  
“We should really get some sleep.”  
Her nightdress lay on the floor, where it had been eagerly discarded. Their first night together, she had changed back into it when it came time for sleep, feeling that this was probably the proper thing to do. Tonight, she thought, it might stay where it was.

It wasn’t as though she’d be cold without it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you think! Comments are very welcome.
> 
> Also, feel free to say hi on Tumblr: @wednesdaygilfillian


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